


You, Small Things, and Auxiliary Functions

by keroseneparadise



Category: Friend Simulator, Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: (mostly), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Brooding Caverns (Homestuck), Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Freeform, Future Fic, Gender Issues, In which Bronya Ursama has a lifelong identity crisis whilst being a teenage mom to everyone, Jadebloods (Homestuck), Multi, No Romance, Original Character Death(s), Other, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Troll Romance (Homestuck)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24294325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keroseneparadise/pseuds/keroseneparadise
Summary: In your mind, you repeat the word, the way it will sometimes sound different: ma or ana or ahm or ama or mama or mahm or mom,what is mom? They refer to you with this before the concept of words and language has ever been introduced, and you try to flush away how it will sometimes sound like mother. What is a mother?
Relationships: ????? Elwurd & Bronya Ursama, ?????? Elwurd/Bronya Ursama, Bronya Ursama & Wanshi Adyata, Bronya Ursama ♦️ Daraya Jonjet, Galekh Xigisi & Daraya Jonjet, Karako Pierot & Bronya Ursama, Karkat Vantas & Bronya Ursama, Karkat Vantas & Daraya Jonjet, Karkat Vantas & Karkat's Lusus, Karkat Vantas & Tyzias Entykk, Lanque Bombyx & Bronya Ursama, Lanque Bombyx & Daraya Jonjet, Lanque Bombyx & Lynera Skalbi, Lanque Bombyx & Wanshi Adyata, Lynera Skalbi & Bronya Ursama, Tyzias Entykk & Bronya Ursama, Tyzias Entykk & Daraya Jonjet, Wanshi Adyata & Lynera Skalbi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	You, Small Things, and Auxiliary Functions

**Author's Note:**

> A cannon-compliant AU about the Jadebloods, namely Bronya, but it's father in the future and MSPAR isn't around to fuck shit up. Bronya questions the meaning of life.mp4.
> 
> Thanks to @magicalmist08 on Tumblr for helping me edit this monstrosity, ly king!!!  
> Note that Karako and Galekh are only mentioned. I couldn't find a good place for clown boy to fit.

You are Bronya Ursama, and you are very small. This is something you've come to understand- how small you are- thanks to the much bigger jade girl who watches you and the others. She always reminds you. You don't know much about her, never even learned her name. She always said to call her Miss or Ma'am without any further context; some of the younger ones call her mamma, but you don't know what that means and don't like being young, so you call her Ma'am.  
She's a pretty lady, or so you think, organized and in order and strict. 

She says that it's important, your work. Our work, she says, is what allows new trolls to live. Until they are adopted by a proper lusus, we have to be a stand-in caretaker and prepare after they hatch. We also have to hatch and raise certain lusi, so they have someone to be adopted by; of course, there are lusi that can be reused once their charges die or are sent off-planet, so keep that in mind if you see lusus that looks older than others. 

You are listening intently, nodding along as she recounts what to do. You're curious, in this way, and in your head, you make a list of questions to ask.  
Once she's finished, you politely raise your tiny hand,  
"We bring other grubs lusus'," You say, working through the question in your mind, "but what about us, when do we get lusus?" 

There's chatter in the room as if the few other jades nearby haven't yet thought about being cared for themselves.  
Ma'ams face scrunches up, and she brushes back her hair, laughing a short laugh before going on,  
"We don't need to be raised by the lusi. We raise one another, so we can grow up to raise grubs across the galaxy. It's…" She pauses, "an honour. We're different from all other castes, in this regard." 

Honour. You like that word, and chew through it with a small smile.  
The girl beside you whimpers, and you look at her confusedly.  
"Sorry," She says, in a voice much smaller than yours, "I was just hoping I'd get one too."  
You sort of screw your jaw around, then place a hand on her shoulder like you saw someone do once, hoping that such things are okay,  
"Yeah, but remember, Miss also said we raise each other, which sounds good. We get to be with our other jades all-the-time!"  
She doesn't look convinced, "But I'm not friends with any of the other jades. I don't like them at all!"  
"We can be friends," You hesitate, "who are you again, though?" 

You're surprised when she hugs you because you aren't sure if _that's_ okay either, but you don't mind being hugged so you let her do it anyway.  
"I'm Lynera." She says, pulling away with a toothy smile.  
"I'm Bronya."  
You were friends, you decided.  


You are older, now, so very old that _finally_ you can get real assignments, not just practice ones, side by side with all your friends. Well, you think they're your friends. They aren't always kind, but they keep you around, and if that's the only basis for friendship, you're okay with it. You know Lynera is your friend; she always wants to be around you. She was also super disappointed when you weren't allowed to work beside her. Ma'am said you might get distracted (she was probably right.) 

You are at a feeding station, making sure that the grubs are strong enough to not die when their lusus picks them up by the scruff, so as the boy beside you washes away the eggshell and grime you feed them and put them in the nearby enclosure to be processed. Then he hands you a little green grub, and you glance around; no one else's enclosure seemed to have any jadebloods at all.  
They aren't meant to be adopted.  
You turn to the washing troll, asking what to do, but he shrugs his shoulders and tells you to ask a superior.  
You aren't entirely sure who that would be, but you look around and spot a drone at the center of the room, seemingly observing your work. That will do, you decide. 

You approach it nervously, although you're sure it's there to help- Ma'am said that their purpose is to handle any sick or injured grubs you might find. But they still looked scary, body sharp and intimidating and probably tall as an adult.  
You know adults are scary, even if you've never seen one.  
"Jade caretaker," It greets you, "is the grub in your possession sick, injured, or otherwise requiring termination?"  
You shake your head, slightly confused,  
"No, she's perfectly healthy. No signs of being sick or hurt from hatching. What do you mean, though?"  
"If your charge shows any differing signs of mutation," The drone pauses, performing a quick scan of you and grub, glowing red eyes beaming over your body,  
"It would need to be killed, regardless of health. However, there seem to be no problems with either of you."  
Your vision goes hazy for a moment. The metal thing in front of you remains helpfully still in case you have another question, but you don't think you can breathe, let alone speak. Your body screams. You think it wants you to run. Breathing shallow, you twist left and barrel through the Jade quarters. 

You can't find Miss. Your face is wet with tears, and your skin feels like it's on fire, the grub in your arms growing agitated at the jagged way you're moving.  
Eventually, you reach a large doorway, embroidered with green writing, and you understand this is where she sleeps.  
No one is allowed inside.  
Fear lodged deep in your chest, you push through the doors and are immediately met with screams from the older jadeblood.  


You stumble back, the door closing at your impact as the troll, formerly hunched over affront a tub of some sort, lashes to face you,  
"Bronya!" She snaps, eyes falling to your face and the now sobbing grub,  
"What…?"  
She's holding a grub, too, a little red thing with a scrunched up eye and a scraggly little chirp. It didn't look well.  
Feeling like a wriggler yourself, you bury your head in her skirt, the thing in your arms calming at the additional warmth,  
"Miss," You cry, and her hands rake through your hair, "they said...that grubs, well, _some_ of them had to die." 

There was a choked wail from above you.  
"Yes," Says Ma'am. There is grief in her voice, but you are too young to know such things.  
"You can tell no one of what you saw me doing here, understand?"  
You nod, despite not yet understanding what she was doing at all. 

You don't see her again after that. 

You aren't all that old. Still, she's a bit younger, immature in the way four sweep olds are and a bit less receptive to her duties than you were, once upon a time. She's sitting with her knees folded, frowning deeply as a grub violently rejects the sludge bottle she's trying to feed it. You smile and crouch beside her, hand on her shoulder as you examine her work,  
"Having trouble?" You hum, recalling some of your first grubs. She nods in frustration, the bottle clenched in her fist. It is a small fist. You chuckle. "I don't get what its' deal is. It won't take it."

There is a split second where you reach down to grab from her hands and yank it away, allowing her to fill her quota without any effort. But you think better of it, opting instead to teach the jade. You sit down beside her and move the grub from her lap to yours, going slowly in a demonstration. The floor is all rocks and dust, but you don't mind, angling the creature so that he's facing the younger jade,  
"Uhm, well, see how I'm holding him?"  
She nods.  
"Be sure there isn't too much distance between you and the grub; they'll need to be reared and the like before adoption, so in the days before they get a lusus, we act as...guardians of sorts. Isn't that lovely?"  
Again, she nods, though it's more non-committal. Her face sours slightly, but you don't notice such things.

Angling the bottle correctly, you list to her how to feed them properly; you can't force it. They're generally more inclined to seek it out themselves if it's near their face, but having it shoved in their mouth will just surprise or upset them. When it latches on the bottle with its little mouth, chirping and gurgling incomprehensibly, the girls face quirks up into something that half-resembles a smile.  
You can't contain a smile of your own. It feels... nice, helping like this. Rewarding. 

The grub eventually crawls its way back to her unprompted, which you think startles her, but she stiffly moves it to her arms. The air smells of sludge formula and post-birth slick, and you can't help but laugh. Brows raised, the other jade smiles up at you.  
"Sorry," You hum, hands clasped together, "What, perchance, is your name?"  
Hesitation marks her face, but she eventually answers:  
"Daraya Jonjet."  
You grin, "I'm Bronya."

You are a bit older, but not by much. You've taken to lists like a moth takes to flame, which annoys him terribly because the only thing that excites him is a variation to the routine. Variation stresses you out, makes you feel as though something terrible is trying to swallow you whole. Your life isn't varied, and you prefer it that way.  
He is visibly older than you, by a rather wide margin, but he doesn't act the part, and you're so used to grubs that getting along with him is easy.  
"Of course it's terrible, Lanq'," You cross your arms, and he rolls his eyes, but you go on, "This is our lot in life. What, you're not having a good time?"  
He makes a tch sound, elbowing you in the side "Oh, of course I am. Grand fun, really, every day. Yourself?"  
Your mouth draws itself into a thin line,  
"Well-"

You are interrupted by a drone doing its rounds, stopping in behind you and Lanque with a sharp beep. You tense, feeling the monolithic presence behind you scan your work. The grub in your care squirms and whines, and you watch Lanque fearfully tucking his charge into his breast. You fantasize in your mind, as you always do, about plucking the small thing in your arms up and taking it somewhere safe. It writhes and sneezes, little body trembling naively as if something behind it didn't want anything more than to kill it.

"Jade caretaker," It addresses you, and you cringe, fighting the urge to cry that is clawing against your eyes. In your mind, you list all the reasons it could be approaching you, only most of which are terrible and brutal.  
"Yes?" You respond, quirking your head in its direction and stroking your grub into a state of lulling calm. The grub sighs and relaxes, curling up against you in warm relaxation.  
"Good work."  
It is gone. You hunch over and bite your cheeks so hard you think you may be bleeding, the blue-blooded grub squeaking at how close it's being held.

"Bronya," Lanque raked a hand through his hair, voice sounding smaller than it maybe should,  
"You alright?"  
"Of course I am." You breathe the answer through your teeth as if trying to eject poison from your mouth.  
He reaches over to place a hand on your shoulder, promoting you to realize how bad you are at lying. You do not shrug him away, continuing to prepare your little monsters side-by-side. You want to hug him, tell him things are better than they seem, but you don't have the energy to lie again. Not now.

You feel distinctly older than you know you are, hand interlocked with someone who, looking like she does, feels a million miles away. 

Girlfriend. That's what she calls you, highblood slang. She smiles and runs a hand through the blue of her hair, looking at you with dark eyes that make you feel seen, make you feel like maybe being someone's girlfriend isn't so bad. Even if it means this bottomless pit in your chest, this feeling like perhaps there's somewhere else you should be.  
Honestly, you hate the word. Girlfriend. Girl. You repeat it in your mind as she leads you up a hill, the way it resounds, making you shift. Girl, jade, caretaker, Mother Grub, it all comes back to 'womanhood,' doesn't it? Which you don't really understand the meaning of even when you're meant to represent it. Not unless it's her. With her around, talking to you like you're just an average troll she's allowed to be with, you feel better about the ordeal as a whole.

The dull pain does not alleviate, but you ignore it. 

It is midnight, and you are lying in the grass, a lit cigarette blowing smoke from her lips. You inhale through your nose, the city-smells nearby unpleasant as they are familiar,  
"Elwurd," You breathe, prompting your matesprit to quirk her head in your direction, "do you love me?"  
She goes stiff, shrugging in her non-committal way, "I…I 'unno. Yeah, I guess. I like spending time with you, so."  
Elwurd stutters for a moment, before returning the question.  
"Do you love _me_?" 

Next to her, you remained still, despite the way frustration bubbled up in your throat. There was an attempt on your part, to sort through the mess that rested in your mind, and when that attempt failed you sat up and began yanking at your hair with subtle violence.  
"I'm not sure. That's the problem. I'm not sure if this is how it's supposed to feel, so how can I be certain? They never taught us these things, and honestly when I think of you I think of you as I might, well, a friend. But you hold my hand. And say things friends… aren't generally wont to say. You make me happy, I know that. I'm not sure that's enough." You turn away, trying to hide the thin tears falling from your eyes.  
Elwurd just chuckles, hand finding its way to your shoulder,  
"It's enough for me."  
The cigarette in her hand finds its way between your lips, and you take a long, slow drag, the taste as you inhale putting you at ease. Elwurd kisses you on the cheek and drapes herself over your lap, and you think about how much more daring she is, how much stronger she is.  
How much she would have to risk, loving you forever.  
Running your hands through blue-dyed hair, you feel as though you are on the precipice of something painful. This is it. 

And Gog, you wish you were young enough to still have someone holding your hand. Now, as you are, your hands lay empty except for when you're holding a tiny body.  
Except for now, when her hand is in yours, and it's abundantly clear that you are doing the holding. Her tiny grey fist clenches hard, and you laugh in amused exhaustion,  
"Wanshi, slow down. Your room won't disappear on us." "I know," She says very seriously, leading you down the final hallway with a grin, "but I'm really excited to show you what Lanque brought me!" 

You sigh, knowing well he likely took the trip when he should have been tucked away in the cloister, but her excitement is infectious and you can't help but grin along with her as she throws open the door. Wanshi leads you in, letting go only to pull a glossy-covered book with battling purrbeasts displayed along with dramatic yellow text.  
"It's one of the other books, not the ones in the main plot but about other things, and the last one ended on a cliffhanger-" She goes on, filling you in about the books as you nod along impassively. After a minute of rapid-fire explanation, she circles back around to the books themselves, "-I wish I could've gone, though. I was worried he'd mess it up, even though I know he _loves_ Soldier Purrbeasts, I'm the expert."  
It's difficult not to perk up, nervously brushing hair from her face. You want so badly to keep her here, keep her safe, as if the world outside the caverns is an awful, corrupting place.  
"Wanshi, first of all, it's not safe. You're…very small-" (she interrupts to groan that you remind her enough as it is) "-and second of all, I'm not sure if Lanque would be interested in keeping you safe. Thirdly," Standing with a flourish, you gesture towards the nearby recuperacoon, "Lynera will be tutoring you soon. This means you one: need plenty of rest, and two: won't have time to be prancing around outside all the time. Plus, if you got caught…"  
Another groan from the younger troll, her arms crossing in annoyed resignation. You hide a chuckle behind your knuckle and pat her on the head,  
"It's getting early. We should both be in bed." Wanshi complies, but resentfully so. You wonder if it's normal, feeling so old at just six and half sweeps. 

You are old enough, now, to oversee the caverns. You were a shoo-in for the job, or at least your credentials suggested as much. You could handle the mother grub, you could organize the jades, you kept your young assignments quiet and always complied with the drones, to their knowledge. This must-have impressed your superiors. Whoever, wherever, they were. What did they know about grubs? Were they even jades, really? What did they know about the small somethings that need to be cared for and loved?

This is not a question you would ever dare to ask, but it _is_ a question. Subtle, angry, this question. It is a subtle violence. This is the way you live. When you wake each night the same pair of clothes you always wear are dispensed and dry, and you put them on immediately because you no longer sleep in sopor. Too much work to towel off. The ten minutes you gain from this is worth every hour of horror, and it fades from your mind once you awaken because there is much to do. Always much to do.

__

__

You are the first to wake, out of necessity. Rarely do even the jades who leave the caverns (sneaky, covert, they think you don't see them, but you do, your heart aches at the angry looks given to you by those you could have sworn considered you friends) govern themselves enough to slip away before you. You've a clown to feed, among many, many other tasks. Sometimes, as a form of leisure (this is the only form of leisure you can afford to take), you will sit at the edge of the caverns, the sun barely having set, and bask in the radiating heat. It hurts your skin, thin and brittle, but the intensity is revitalizing.

A few minutes is all it takes. The air is far cleaner than that of your caverns, but this is not something you can afford to dwell on.  
Clean air is a luxury that must be given up to birth Alternias future violent aggressors. You are responsible for the birth of hundreds, by now, none of which have died because you are vigilant and good at mixing the slurry and maybe if one or two hatchlings are a little sickly you nurse them back to health but there is no harm in this.  
There is only _some_ harm in this.

Ma. You don't know what it means, but amongst their incongruent clicks and garbled syllables, this is the most consistent word you've heard. Small hands and thick bodies, tongues still filling in the blanks, they paw at your ankles and call you ma. It is a subtle violence, the way they do this to you. This is the way you live.

You run your hands along the Mother Grubs carapace exoskeleton, clocking in with the nearby machine and watching as her feed bowls fill with terrible sludge and she hungrily devours every drop.  
Her existence is simple and necessary.  
You wish you were half as lucky.  
In your mind, you repeat the word, the way it will sometimes sound different: ma or ana or ahm or ama or mama or mahm or mom, what is mom? They refer to you with this before the concept of words and language has ever been introduced, and you try to flush away how it will sometimes sound like mother. What is a mother? 

Why do you call her the Mother Grub? 

Your jades begin to file out of their quarters, lining up for a role call that you complete in a matter of seconds. You recognize all of them, their distinct faces and clothing making them easy to organize in your mind. Lynera, a shy girl who seemed somewhat afraid of her peers, was a wonderful help to you.  
Sure, you suppose she was clingy, but you understand the want to be needed. You promoted her to your second in command, and she double checks that everyone is present. You already know who's missing, but Lynera reports back regardless,  
"The two troublemakers seem to have opted out, yet again."  
You smile reassuringly, her tensed shoulder relaxing the second you touch a hand to it, "Leave it to me, alright?" 

She nodded. You were dismissed to begin your duties by the still-patrolling drones, who would never notice the missing jade-bloods if someone didn't tell them. You had no intention of doing so, but kept a close eye on your subordinates to make sure they felt the same. 

Your stomach wrenched when you broke for lunch and didn't eat, standing at the now darkened entrance and waiting. Waiting is something you've become proficient at. Lanque should be more responsible, but you know better than to ask such things of him when he hates you. This has never passed his lips, but you know it to be true, just like you know Daraya likely relies on him to take her out. To places they don't belong, violent places, with people who can hurt them-  
You gave up your _life_ to be their jade!  
You are nothing but this, this responsibility, you know for sure you're nothing else anymore. Can they not give up something, just one thing, to make your life easier?  


You realize you're angry. You tell yourself to suck it up and get back to work. They'll be back when they get back. You make a mental list of all the lies she's told you, all the times he's shouted, and wonder what it will take for them to see you as anything other than an obstacle.  
You aren't their enemy, for all that you oppose them. You tell yourself this until it feels less like a lie.

You feel like you're on your deathbed when Lanque strolls in as the sun begins to hang in the sky, your hands anxiously wringing together when he looks down at you with annoyance.  
"Where on Alternia have you been?" You peek behind him, "Where's Daraya?"  
"I've been out, Bronya. That's enough for you, isn't it? And I don't know where she is. She can do as she pleases, without me around to babysit." He stops, an unsaid insult hanging in the air until he catches it and spits it at you anyways,  
"I didn't give up my freedom, and neither did she. You chose this, Bronya."  
"Why do you have to be like this, Lanque? _Why?_ You used to stay inside and be at least somewhat obedient, what's inspired…this? I've been very lenient, you know, letting you slack off and shirk your duties but if you get reported-" "Reported?" He snaps at you, hunching over to meet your eyes, "What? Are you going to report me, Bronya? Really? I mean, I know I make the grave mistake of inconveniencing you, but if I were to get culled-"

"I don't want that, Lanque." Your retort is sharp, even though you've taken a step back and begun raking your nails along the skin of your hand, nerves ticking so erratically that you barely register your words as they slip out of your mouth. You try to keep from expressing too much one way or another, but your emotions were bubbling over and you had to do something to convince him out of this, "I mean, of course I don't, I want for you to succeed like I want that for all of my jades, for all of _us_. One, we _can_ leave, there are off-times, but you insist on slipping away when you should be attending to your duties. These things are our responsibility, and it's immature of you to push that on others. Two, this work is necessary and considered quite an honour. Not one we can afford to push away, either. Three, these parties are dangerous. I know they are. It isn't worth it, putting your life at more risk than it already is when you choose to go gallivant around outside anyways. What we do here is good, it's _important_ ," "It's terrible." You hear the strain in his voice, that quality that makes it sound small and uncertain and like something you want to protect, even though he'd throw a fit if you ever said so. He's doing things out there, talking to people, he's not even in line to be shipped off-planet but he wears adulthood on the side of his jacket with casual grace. You wonder if it hurts him, like it hurts you. 

You want to tell him that you're afraid. Afraid for him, afraid for what they'll do if they find out, afraid for yourself because you aren't sure if you could sell him out if he brought a dead body back to the cloister, let alone a live one.  
But the way he's looking at you, sharp-edged and fearful but angry, very angry. You wish you had the strength to tell him you were still angry, too.  
You can't risk inspiring revolution. The violence must remain subtle. Otherwise, you put your lives at risk. 

You take a step forward.  
Careful. Tense.  
He doesn't shy away, but he's still standing there, on defence, scowling at you with that sharp smile of his.  
You wrap your arms around his torso because you can't reach any higher but he simply hunches over like a stiff grub and buries his face in your hair, body taut with something you can't help or identify. You tell him you're sorry. You tell him you know. He calls you a liar and a bitch before breaking down crying. His sobs are neat and quiet, as if he'd practiced not making a scene.  
Alright, you think.  
Okay.  


It occurs to you some time later, when you are old enough to reflect on your first few months overseeing as distant memories, that the point at which he stopped trusting you was tangible in the air, like drawing salve glazing over your tongue. 

You wish he were here now. You try to imagine him, a fully-formed adult, still alive and off-planet and maybe thinking of you. Maybe thinking of freedom. Maybe thinking of the fifty-odd lovers who sobbed the day he left. You wonder what he'd think of you now, and irrevocably understand that he'd be dissapointed. As if he wasn't already. 

The mother grub is producing.  
This slurry will be small, you can tell as much already, but that's up because it will contain high-blooded grubs. They are rare, and few, but they tend to come in clusters. Your hands tremble uneasily, or maybe expectantly, or something. Anything. You don't understand what.  
But you shake. You always shake, on these days.  


There are drones standing by, outside the room as is tradition, the Mother Grub kreening and shouting until from her body a speckled violet egg pops, grey fluid pooling around it. Then she lays two more in quick succession, blue and teal from the looks of it, her already-prepped body making the process easy. She has been preparing to enter a rearing phase, the Mother Grub. It is rare that she lays an egg of her own kind, as she's not even near to the end of her lifespan; this means that said matriorb will likely hatch into a virgin, perhaps one equipped to raise grubs instead of birth them. You smile as the little unhatched creatures are swept away for incubation and wonder what jade would be so lucky as to be given a lusus like her. Or any lusus at all. 

Daraya approaches you, afterwards, grabbing you by the arm as Lynera leads Wanshi away. The three of them were the only ones you allowed to be in the room with you, allowed to witness each new hatchling. You knew what was coming, but remained silent as she spoke.  
"Why won't you just choose something else, Bronya? Another task for me to waste away on? I don't wanna watch that shit, much less help- I'm useless. Give the "privilege" to another jade." 

She's taller than you, now. Still younger, but a grown girl, looking down at you with a familiar angry, crested expression. You use your free hand to brush away loose strands of her hair, smiling at how she's been letting it grow out. Daraya doesn't shrink away, but she looks at you with quizzical annoyance.  
"In my opinion, you're far from useless, young lady. One, although you're turbulent, I've seen the way you look at the grubs. I know you don't hate them. You care about them, in your way. I'm certain. Two, I know that if it came down to it, you'd protect the cloister just as I would." You say this with sincerity, but Daraya just scowls and retracts, mumbling a short whatever before heading for her quarters.

You stop, considering, then call out to her.  
"You've completed your duties, haven't you?"  
Daraya nods imperceptibly, glancing your way with an ever-present annoyance. You try and fail to recall the last time she smiled. With a vague gesture towards the exit and a sideways nod, you try to push away the feeling of her eyes boring into you,  
"We…still have some nighttime left, if you'd like to go for a walk with me." 

She agrees, but hesitantly. That always seems to be the case. 

The air smells of pine and drifting summer pollen, prompting you to stop right at the entrance and take deep, gulping breaths. The air was an easy thing to be greedy with.  
You mutter something about how the caves have always been stuffy.  
Daraya laughs and motions for you to follow, big black boots plowing through vegetation as you snake around the cavern entrance to an area far behind it. Said area is splattered with trees and bushes, a drooping cluster of forested area that provided shade from the incoming warmth. Over this patch of forest, you see the entrance to the city, teeming and mostly unguarded despite the wealthy-looking neighborhood. It looked business-like, to say the least.  
It's been a long time since you were there. There's no time for visits, not anymore. Not with how risky you've been, lately. 

Sitting in the shade, Daraya stretches and yawns. You take a deep breath, in and out, refusing to meet her eye despite being the technical authority. You just sit there and pick at blades of grass, contemplating how she manages to sound so casual as words begin to spill out,  
"I have a lot of things to say to you. But I don't know how to say all of them, exactly, even after all this time. So, my apologies if this sounds strange or unbecoming. I just…" You clench your eyes closed, "I just want for things to be okay between us, if I can have nothing else."  
She's curious, interested, or at least you think so. You could never read people, never understand what they wanted without being told, but you were so intimately familiar with Daraya in particular that when she shifts and glances rapidly you think she wants you to go on. So you do.  
"One: I apologise, for all that I've done in the past. I don't mean it was any less foolish to risk your life like that-" (she snorts and you smile at the sound, braving a look her way) "-but I do apologise. I never wanted to punish you, or make you feel bad or disloyal, I never wanted to make you feel like a lesser jade. The damage has already been done, and I...I was so very young, Daraya," You feel yourself start to cry, but wipe the tears before she can notice them, "it's stupid, I know, but I wanted to take care of you. Of everyone. I think I still do, even now. Two: I truly hope you don't think that I hate you, or Lanque. I couldn't hate you if I wanted to, and sometimes I kind of did." 

You are steady now, rapidly practicing each statement in your head before going on. Daraya is still, deathly so, simply staring (not glaring.) "Three: I don't _love_ the caverns. I mean, I used to love them, then I hated them, and now I don't know where I stand on the caverns themselves. It's my work. Since I was a grub, I was meant to take care of things, regardless of what it meant for me. But, what the drones do, what happens to the innocent wrigglers who aren't as fit as the rest...I know it's not fair, so-"  
"You save them." She interjects as your eyes go wide, "I know, Bronya. It's- it's a good thing. You do good with th-"  
_You_ interrupt _her_ then, wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling close, abruptly overwhelmed with the need to be held. 

You feel her hands rake through your hair and prod teasingly at the base of your horns, causing you to giggle in response.  
"And for the record, don't beat on little Bronya too much. It does just as much good as me beating on little Daraya. We were all stupid. We were kids. We're _still_ kids, we shouldn't have to be here. We shouldn't need to do this! The whole system is fucked and everyone suffers, including us. _Especially_ us, because it's a special kind of suffering that's either glamorized or minimized and no one really gets it except other jades." Daraya huffs, leaning back and prompting you to simply sit down beside her.  
You are, for the first time in a long time, at peace. 

You aren't getting any younger, so you let the visits fall into a routine. Once or twice a week, almost wordlessly, you and Daraya decide to sneak away. Being with her is a matter of comfort, not that you do much talking- you're content to just sit in the shade and wait for the sun to start rising, occasionally recounting stories or finding common ground over the stress that jade duties bring. You don't utter the word moirail, as if saying it aloud would break it. But you feel the word. You like this word, you decide.  
Some nights, Daraya will talk of a group. People who know the empire are corrupt and want to stop it. They follow someone, long dead she says, who prophesied of a mutant grub capable of finding unity between everyone.  
It is a nice thought, a fairytale, but it's not realistic to entertain. Not then and there. She only talks of them some nights.  
Tonight was not one of them.  


Daraya collapsed into the clearing, body rigid and tense as beams of moonlight flushed in through the trees. Sitting cross-legged at her side, you try to ask what's wrong but before you can she sits up and stares at you with sharp, specific eyes,  
"Bronya, if something happened, would you run away with me?"  
The statement is so ridiculous that you burst out laughing, barely managing to speak through your giggles, "My apologies, however, _what _?"  
Daraya doesn't seem to see the humour, hands grabbing to clasp your wrists and hold them close together,  
"I'm serious. If we rounded up some of the others and hijacked a ship…would you leave with us? Get off this planet?"  
You chuckle breathlessly, but it is not a laugh of humour. A smile, albeit tired, sticks to your face.  
"Daraya, what about the grubs?"  
Her teeth clench and she shouts, an exclamation of frustration and anger and grief as she throws your hands away and cries,  
"What about you, Bronya?" She heaves, "What about _us_?" __

____

____

Noise is shocked from your throat. Your pleasant expression melts into a grimace. You open your mouth to respond, knowing full well nothing would ever convince her stubborn mind, but she beats you to the punch by going white in the face before you've said a word. Yanking at your sleeve, she points at the sky behind you, making a garbled noise. 

You turn, eyes widening as bright lights streaked across the sky. Oh no.  
"A meteor shower," Panicked, you stand, forcing Daraya (with what little strength you have) to do the same, "We have to get inside, in case one of them lands nearby. They've been getting worse and worse recently!"  
She yanks away, head vigorously shaking, "No- fuck, Bronya, do you ever _listen_ to me? That's a good thing! They said that _he_ would land near the captains, that it would be up to me to keep him away from the drones!"  
You shake your head right back, unable to control the torrent of words that burst from your mouth even as Daraya screams and points and oh fuck, that's a meteor, breaching your atmosphere barreling dangerously close to your little clearing. 

You're frozen with fear, but Daraya takes action, grabbing the back of your shirt and yanking both of you so hard that your bodies go lurching downhill. You lay still, stunned by the sudden array of action until a loud _bang_ and _crack_ from above snaps you out of your daze and you scramble back up as quickly as you can. Daraya follows on your heels. 

You gasp. A quick intake of breath that sticks in your throat not because the meteor, though broken apart, was just big enough (roughly the size of a small prank shop) to desecrate the one place that you'd found peace. But...  
He was there.  
A wriggler. A _baby_  
You're frightened- of the debris and what this means and drones that will likely be scanning the area as more meteors pelt to the ground but a small sobbing thing laying in a crater was harmless, on its own. 

You slide down, drawing him up in your arms. Too warm. Too red. Daraya slides to a stop behind you, breathing loud and heavy and uneven,  
"We _have_ to get back to the caverns. I'm gonna call Tyzias."  
You want to ask questions, to stop and breathe, to give the writhing body in your hands time to relax, but heavy footsteps nearby urge you forward, slipping in the now overwhelmed caverns as clusters of Jades rush in and out to make sure things are safe and protect the hatchlings. 

A jade holding a grub wasn't too suspicious, but you still keep him close as Daraya pushes you towards the dorms. Before she can go to her room, you take off in the direction of yours, revitalized by the memory of medical supplies. 

The door slams shut behind you. A feeling of safety, despite the circumstances, washes over you as you cross the threshold. The mutant hasn't stopped screaming entirely, but his choked wails have more or less devolved into hiccups and whimpers, leaning into the coolness your body provided. You tried to ignore Darayas' call nearby, instead carefully smearing cream over the cuts in his side. The cream is cold to the touch, and seems to distress him at first, but after a few lulling hums he gets used to the new sensation and seems to enjoy it.  
You sigh, relieved when Daraya shoves her palmhusk aside to sit on the floor beside you. Her face is drawn tight with joy and anger and stress, so many emotions pooling in her eyes.  
The wrigglers' small, half-made fists clench around your fingertip and your chest feels impossibly light.  


"If there's a 'prophecy'," You start, "does that mean he already has a name?"  
She shakes her head, playing with the small tufts of hair he's already grown,  
"Only a last one," Daraya smiles, coy and rebellious, " _Vantas_."  
Vantas coos and chirps, the positive attention giving warmth to his otherwise gravelly cries. 

There are a few minutes of silence, before Tyzias arrives. You could have spent these moments asking questions or trading information, but the silence that fell over you was comforting. Shielding. It felt like, for a moment, this was a normal grub, perhaps even _your_ grub, smiling at you with sharp teeth and bright eyes. 

Then a frazzled troll burst knocked on the door and you were stripped of this illusion, the look on her face as Daraya unlocked it immediately reminding you of the urgency. "Where is- oh." Tyzias clasps a hand over her mouth. Tears began to fall from her eyes, trembling as she stumbled towards him and fell to her knees before you. She's thanking you, Daraya, and Gog in quick succession; and though you think the tears are happy, the longer you stay put the more anxious you get. 

"One:" You begin, slowly, being sure you had her attention, "who are you? Two: what do we do with Vantas here- certainly there's no lusus that would accept him? Is he to be raised by a troll?"  
Tyzias listens patiently, using the sleeve of her jacket to wipe the teal from her face,  
"I'm the rebellion. Well, I'm with them-"  
"She leads them." Daraya corrects.  
"Yes, technically," Tyzias sighs, "but it doesn't make me any more important than the rest of us. We're the only remaining followers of The Signless," She begins talking more rapidly, "Who was both a prophet and the ancestor of this little guy." 

"And his lusus," Darayas eyes flit towards the door, "is already alive. It's...not particularly common, but I know there's one in our caverns. The crustaceans, with the hard shell- it'll take him."  
Oh. Right. You nod along, feeling very much like a sidekick to an adventure you'll never live to see. Vantas has fallen asleep in your arms, undisturbed even as you stand from the floor. Tyzias removes her jacket and drapes it across your shoulders to hide the grub, offering a small smile as Daraya goes ahead.  
"You're safe." You feel like a situation like this can never be safe, but continue out the door regardless. 

Tyzias remains at your side with Daraya directly affront you, acting as a guide as much as a shield. Eventually, you encounter less traffic, the deeper crevices of your home acting as housing for the many lusi that lived within your walls.  
The crab is crouched and unassuming, batting at a pebble on the ground as you approach. Daraya reaches out to him, but he stumbles back once realizing you're there, scanning the grub you've brought so close as all lusi tend to do. He chirps and trills, eyes widening as young Vantas slowly opens his eyes and they come face to face. 

Carefully, so as not to hurt him, the crab presses his sharp maw against Vantas' underbelly, prompting him to belt out a loud, scraggly laugh. You untense, holding the wriggler a couple inches away so the lusus could take hold of his charge.  
Your arms were significantly colder, now that he was gone.  
"What happens now?" Daraya asks, and you try to fight the dissociative state that is infecting your clarity. "Well, he'll likely pupate overday, now that he's found a guardian," You hum, "and from there he'll be able to get help from the drones with hive construction, considering his blood color will be… unobvious, by then. The lusus will know what to do."  
Tyzias chews at her lip, staring at the newly made pair with concern, "You're sure he'll be safe here all day?"  
You...weren't.  
"I can stay with him. I don't sleep with slime much lately, regardless, so it won't be any burden to me. The terrors tend to fade after I wake." You proposed your idea very pragmatically, but both of them remained concerned.  
"By yourself?" Tyzias questions, "I'm not sure that's-" "We'll all stay." Daraya is firm as she says this, but you can tell she's still nervous. 

You stay overnight, together, two of you huddled up for warmth and rest as one keeps watch for drones. There was only one, only once; a patrolling thing that didn't question the tense jade caretaker this far back. It lumbered past without event, and that morning the young Vantas emerged from a cocoon with notably solid skin, this time. 

You suppose it was foolish to think things would simply return to normal. Daraya approached you, midway through the night, with a look on her face you've come to associate with trouble.  
"I'm going to take Wanshi," She started matter-of-factly, "I have nothing left for me here. I'm going to ask Lynera, but she'll probably just do whatever you do. We're getting off this planet. I'm gonna find Lanque, and we're going somewhere that isn't shit. It'll be gone in a few sweeps, anyways. 'Xigisi knows his aliens- he knows of planets; that _most_ other planets take refugees."  
You laugh, but it remains humourless and pained, "That's a _terrible_ plan, you aren't making any sense." Your voice is strained, despite your attempts to keep it under control, "One: You'll _die_. Two-"  
" _This_ planet is more dangerous than anything space could throw at us. This planet has been trying to kill all of us since we were hatched!" 

You lean up to wrap her arms around her, nails clutching the back of her shirt. Subtle. Violent.  
"I would rather you didn't, Daraya."  
She chuckles.  
"I know." Leaning away, Daraya pauses for a moment. A heavy exhale pushes past her lips.  
"I want you to come with us, Bronya. Obviously. The caverns are gonna kill you eventually, and if not here then somewhere off-planet. It's not fair, not to anyone, but you...you have a choice, now."  
You shake your head, taking several steps back.  
"It's not fair." You repeat this statement to no one in particular. There's a feeling in your chest, a spring pulled tight and waiting to snap. You're crying, silently. Daraya reaches out to you before retracting, a question still present in her eyes. A request.  
"Of course it's not. You're welcome to come but…free to stay. It's your choice." 

You're, as you've always been, at your oldest, but this decision doesn't feel like one you're wise enough to make. Your name is Bronya Ursama, and you tremble. You tremble and steady yourself, then consider. Consider.  
You feel, more than ever now, impossibly small in a sea of things large enough to swallow you whole.

# 

It is _your_ choice. 

  


#  [YOU STAY](http://www.strawpoll.me/20115463)  


#  [YOU GO](http://www.strawpoll.me/20115463)  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for getting this far!!! I really hope you enjoyed it. Usually my wips don't get done if they're in my drafts more than a week, but I took my time here and am actually... Proud- for once? So yeah I hope you liked it, please leave a comment I love getting them!!


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